Valentine's Tea
by I'm Nova
Summary: John and Sherlock's first Valentine's day as a couple is more giggly than traditional...and that's perfect.


_Disclaimer: Nothing mine. A.N. I know I know, I am a tease and should be punished (I might have to give Irene a call ;D). But good smut requires effort, and this was written in a rush for the deadline. Sorry, everyone! Also, before I forget, a very happy 21st birthday to Dev, aka sherlock on Tumblr. Many happy returns dear, sorry I didn't ask for a prompt explicitly but I hope you don't hate this at least! ^^'''_

Valentine's Tea

When John had suggested just staying in for their first Valentine's Day as an official couple, Sherlock had agreed immediately and understood. It wasn't that John wanted to keep their relationship a secret, or was ashamed of him. If his lover was, he wouldn't have written a blog post announcing their finally getting together that was downright rhapsodic. It was just that any 'romantic place' would be overflowing with idiots, and crowds weren't really either of their thing. 'Their' places, instead…well, John needed a bit of acclimation yet before he considered a crime scene or the morgue proper Valentine's day date locations. The flat was a perfect compromise.

…Fine, John might have a secondary goal by keeping them in the flat. Honestly, there was a gift that Sherlock had been expecting since they had a certain conversation, months prior. Christmas had brought a few books on beekeeping after the detective became excited (no, not like that…there were limits to how weird he was, too) after watching a documentary on their social organisation and dancing language. His birthday had brought a black thong with a Jolly Roger wearing an eyepatch and a red crooked kerchief, which had been put to good use immediately, among much laughter. But now, he must know what John would buy him, or he wasn't a consulting detective anymore.

It all boiled down to the sleuth slipping and informing his love that Jim Moriarty came by just after his trial, and had been offered tea. "Of course I did, John, I'm not a savage. I know how to make a cup. But don't worry. He got the good tea service, the one for assholes – with the image of Britain, just to remind him that my brother owns it…okay, more or less, and that I wasn't helpless. Otherwise, the whole mess would undoubtedly have gone even worse," the detective said.

Now, it was hard to imagine how things could go worse than that, but Moriarty was creative enough to figure out a way. Of course, his love understood the reasoning (he was British, after all) and agreed about that particular teapot being perfect to remind villains of their strengths. Still, Sherlock could see his love's neurons fire up, feeling quite violated by the fact of a tea party with the consulting criminal in their home, and deciding they needed at the very least a nice-ish teapot for the days he felt like spoiling his partner rotten and just pouring water in the cup didn't cut it.

Knowing John, it was more likely to be a 'funny' teapot than an elegant one (his blogger wasn't Mrs. Hudson!) and so the detective had – very cleverly, he thought – procured a pair of cups to properly reciprocate. Of course, he also got alternative gifts each time, so he wasn't in a bind when his love proved, once again, surprising. But he was getting really tired of rewrapping them in seasonally adequate paper, to be honest. If his blogger figured out that he'd deduced his plans and was waiting for him to forget it, they'd be in quite an impasse, as he never forgot anything about John.

The start of the day had seen nothing more than kisses and cuddles – after all, if one wanted to wake up, coffee was necessary. For a moment, Sherlock thought they'd have Chinese, since having tea with such a meal wasn't unheard of.

But Angelo had taken the initiative, delivering without anyone making requests, as far as the sleuth knew, (the man really could be accidentally invasive), and adding to the bag his son brought a number of heart shaped candles. "Just in case," the Italian would have certainly hummed, if only he were there in person.

John laughed, and lighted one. It would be a pity to have them all go to waste. As for the food, that certainly wasn't wasted either – and if Angelo used extra chili pepper, or other ingredients known to be aphrodisiacs, well, no one complained.

Still, the blogger himself hadn't taken any initiative gift-wise, or really, even Valentine-wise. Of course, there were I love yous and affection and Sherlock being spoiled. But that wasn't exactly uncommon…which really said more about how lucky and loved the consulting detective was than about a lack of Valentine's Day spirit.

Sherlock refused to broach the subject himself, though. He would not be caught dead wishing for, much less asking for, the trappings of a commercial holiday made to exploit people's sentiment. He wouldn't be able to meet his brother's gaze anymore if he did. (Because, cameras in the flat or not, of course Mycroft would _know_.)

What he _could_ do was put on a recording of his own rendition of a few masterpieces by Johann Strauss the Younger and invite John to dance. Not because of the holiday, obviously, just because he loved the art and now he had a partner that wouldn't find his hobby silly or girly or any other such idiocy.

His lover's adoring gaze, while they twirled around the room, was enough of a reward anyway, if the detective had deduced wrong. If his transport reflected his feelings accurately, midway through the waltz there would be the bother of scooping a melted Sherlock off the rug. Mrs. Hudson would probably complain about it, too.

Instead, when sheer overwhelming emotion finally made his legs weak (the mere fact that they were a couple this Valentine's day was barely conceivable), John guided him gently towards the sofa, smiled at his beloved flopping down, and offered, "Tea?" It could be a perfectly ordinary question, but there was a glint in his eyes that assured the sleuth that his prediction was about to become true.

He said, "Sure…but I'll get the cups if you don't mind."

His blogger agreed, one eyebrow asking wordlessly if he'd dared to experiment with the cups and put them back contaminated. Despite their love, there would be hell to pay for such a potentially lethal transgression.

They met back in the sitting room minutes later. The new teapot had a silly red bow draped around it after being filled (not as practical as a cozy, but definitely festive), and sported a delicate Alice in Wonderland design.

"I almost went with the one where she meets the Cheshire cat who claims ″We're all mad here,″ but I preferred this one because of the quote," John admitted with a grin. The quote, running in soft cursive around the pot, proclaimed happily, "How queer everything is to~day." It might seem a stupid gift. A childish one, even. But it was anything but that.

This was John telling him that they weren't just together, but that he was proud of them. Sure, they didn't exactly hide their relationship…but they hadn't announced it, either. It was on a need-to-know basis, and very few people made that list. Honestly, most of the list was sure they had shagged since their first case, so there wasn't a big fuss about it. They loved each other, the sky was blue, what else was new?

But there were one too many snapped "Not his date" and groused 'I'm not gay' in their past. And sure, John wasn't gay, he was bi, but that didn't mean that at the time Sherlock hadn't been annoyed. This, a literary, unashamed, utterly British declaration…it was so _John_ that the only thing stopping him from crying out of sheer emotion was the anticipation of when his love would see the cups. So instead, he just said, "I love it! I might have to use it every day, I'm warning you."

"Well, that's what it was bought for," his love replied, grinning at him. So, not a 'special occasions' concession. Perfect.

The detective nudged the cups, wrapped in paper sporting stethoscopes coiled around mostly anatomically correct crimson hearts. The detective nudged the cups, wrapped in paper sporting It was as far as he would bow to the conventions of the holidays.

John grinned while he unveiled them, and he gaped at what he found. The rather simple cups had a long inscription which seemed to have been created by some very enthusiastic (and possibly blind drunk) people. It stated, "We are happy men!/ We love ourselves; we love nature;/ We live together; We love freedom;/ We are mightiness; We are bravery;/The only thing we want is to go along with the/men we love and binge together, live up together." If that wasn't ridiculous enough, in a bigger character and forest green, it read, "Happy/dness."

There might also be some drawing, but honestly, the blogger couldn't see it because he was laughing until his eyes were full of tears by the time he finished reading. And Sherlock was laughing with him, an irrepressible giggle that didn't want to stop.

When John could finally breath again, he said, "I adore these, love, but I'd think they would have given you a conniption. Are you sure you want to use them?"

"Happiness trumps rules... and happydness too," the detective said, shrugging. His partner was right, of course. Sherlock tended to be what a random internet user would have called a grammar Nazi. The least anyone could do was be precise in their use of language. After all, he used it as a weapon often enough, and the handling of weapons should always be careful.

It was only one more set of rules to live by, and not even the most difficult. Definitely easier to internalise than "All hearts are broken," "Don't get attached," and other pearls of Mycroft's wisdom he'd lived by for so long. Well, he'd tossed his brother's rules to the garbage. He could toss grammar and spelling away too if it got him his lover's delightful giggle. That was more important than any stupid directive.

John couldn't help himself. He kissed his adorable beloved. When they reluctantly parted, he poured the tea, and then asked nonchalantly, "Milk?"

"You know my taste," the detective replied, pouting slightly. What was the point in asking? His love hadn't deleted it, had he?

"I do. Here comes the love…errrr, the milk…well, you see," the doctor said. The milk carton, which he got from a tiny Chinese shop, stated "Love milk." "I promise I analysed it and it is regular milk, perfectly safe for human consumption," John added, giggling like a schoolboy while he added a dash of it to his lover's cup.

Sherlock took a sip and groaned, a deep, frankly obscene sound. "Mmm…pity. I was hoping for some different milk…but definitely not from the carton."

"That can easily be arranged," John retorted, "be a good lad, drink your tea, and I promise there'll be rewards." He wouldn't pounce on his maddening lover. He wouldn't. They risked tipping everything and being drowned in scalding hot tea. They didn't need to be some of the idiots who ended Valentine's day at the A&E.

A year ago, the blogger would have denied that there was a sexy way to drink tea. Bananas, sure, strawberries, yep, you could do some pretty things with an assortment of food…but tea? He had to swing around on that subject. Damn. Let's hope there were no cameras in the flat. Otherwise, someone was about to have the show of their lives.


End file.
